The White Sheep's Disguise ✓

Chapter 61

His eyes are wide open. I lift his head, but dead weight drags it back down. "Rylan, please," I croak, tears spilling from the corners of my eyes. Blood seeps through my trousers and warms my knees. He hasn't been dead for long.

I might still have a chance.

A sharp blue light ignites from my fingertips and I press against his throat, quickly allowing the magic to stitch together the gash that likely ended his life after what appears to be a beating for the ages. I glance back at the messy kitchen, realizing that none of this came at the hands of Rylan's despair. Someone did this to him—tossed him around like a rag doll, then slit his throat to deem the job done.

His skin didn't even have time to bruise.

The wound disappears quickly and I see stars from the quick activation, but Rylan doesn't move. I shake his shoulders and receive no response. Bloody hands dragging through my hair, a cracked sob releases from my throat and I rest back on my heels, staring at his lifeless face. This can't be real. I have to be dreaming or someone is playing a cruel trick.

I'm a sticky mess already, so I might as well keep trying. I press my hand against his heart and pulse the magic into him. Rylan's heavy body shakes, quivering, and the light bleeds underneath his skin. "Rylan, you have to wake up," I whimper. "I can't—"

I thrust the magic into him again, forcing a stronger blast that ruptures through his heart. His veins brighten blue, but not from the blood flowing through him as it should. Through the tears and sorrow, I continue to press, shoving enough magic into him that he should wake by now. He remains slumped and unmoving in his own blood.

Out of anger, I slam my fist against his body. "Please!" I shout, sobbing through my teeth. The side of my hand stings, but I do it again, this time knocking against his shoulder. The cabinets he leans against rattle. I slam my fist into that, too, relishing in burning knuckles. "Rylan, please." My voice becomes weaker.

He was the only person willing to pay for Castiel's potions. On a guard's income, along with pooling our money together and some of Chaska's, we paid for my brother to live a pain-free life. No one else would've given that to us without asking for more in return. All the days I spewed filth at him for the terrible things he did to ruin our marriage...they were mistakes. I can't take them back.

I drop my head into my hands and realize that I can't bring him back. The magic inside my body may halt life, it can stop breath, but I can't bring someone back from the dead. There isn't a way to grant life to something that has already passed on, not unless I possess the power of the Void Queen. Rylan's only use now is to become a member of her army of the soulless, those that have passed and received a second-life to serve her for eternity as a rotting corpse.

My shoulders shake uncontrollably. I lean my forehead against his chest and absorb the last of his warmth before the rest of it melts away, deep inside his body to never return. How will I explain this to Chaska, to my family, to Eligius and the rest of the village? They'll suspect me. They'll think I killed him because of my expertise with the palace and all that resides within.

I brought death to their peaceful home.

The cottage rumbles, shaking, and I wonder if the rage erupting from me will bring this entire place down. I wouldn't care. I continue to sob as that steady thump becomes louder, pulsing into my ears, then stops. The world stills once more.

Raising my hands from my face, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Someone's here. I scramble away for the fear of Rylan's killer coming to clean up the mess, but it's not a stranger that loathed the guard his entire life. Standing in the entryway to our kitchen, Cloak's eyes soften, but the rest of his face remains cold. Distant.